


Set Me Free

by RayearthHikaru



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayearthHikaru/pseuds/RayearthHikaru
Summary: Paying for your rent has sadly become an impossible task after you got fired and this generated an unwated harassment performed by the house owner and his annoying Blighters. A certain Mister Frye, however, will prove to be a wonderful ally and unexpected friend, helping to finally take your persecutor down and eventually offering you a place into the Rooks. A kindness you haven't seen in a lifetime, literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this recently on tumblr, a long oneshot split in three chapters. It's actually nothing special, but I got this idea all of a sudden and thought to put it down. Considering how difficult it is to write at the moment, I'm surprised I even managed to finish it.

You have to call up all your strength as you stare at the man in front of you, his dark and stern eyes studying the envelope you placed on the table and meticulously counting the money contained inside.

Of course he’s not impressed with the amount you gave him, not that you weren’t expecting such a reaction from the brute. You did all you could to gather those precious pounds, but you also have to buy your own food and possibly get some new, cheap clothes from time to time. You may not be the richest woman in London, but hell! You still remain a human being with primary needs after all. This rent is literally draining your whole soul out right now and the more time passes by, the more the overall debt seems to increase for some inexplicable reason.

As much as you’d love to kick them all where it hurts the most, you have to contain your anger in order to keep a decent roof over your head.

As long as it lasts, at least. Sooner or later you may find yourself in the streets extending your hand to get some coin along with the homeless orphans scattered on dirty sidewalks or in dark alleys, but you don’t even want to think about such a tragic possibility at the moment.

“You do know this is not nearly enough to cover your debt, right?”

_‘Yes, of course I know you stupid fly rink (bald man)!’_

“Trust me, I am perfectly aware of that. I just thought it would be nice to at least give you something instead of showing myself empty handed again.”

The man shrugs. “Oh well, I guess you’re right. Still, I doubt my boss will be happy about such a poor earning, girl. ”

You cross your arms over your chest with an unpleasant expression. “I don’t give a shit about what he thinks. Your boss should actually consider himself lucky for the fact I’m even paying.”

The brute threateningly steps forward forcing you to flinch and retreat, the kitchen knives well within your reach previously prepared for an easy grip in case of emergency. Surely they wouldn’t dare to kill you now considering the huge amount of money you still have to collect for them, but that doesn’t mean you’re completely out of danger because of it.

“I’d watch my words if I were you. Considering I could snap your neck with just one hand, you are the lucky one here, Snowflake.”

You try not to back down, holding his gaze with equal fearlessness. Although he towers over you and is twice your size you have to withstand until you find a practical solution to your problem.

Assuming you will manage to find one, of course.

“You know how much I hate pet names,” you retort.

“And you know how much I hate your sharp tongue, do it again and I may not be so sympathetic next time. Nor will my boss.”

_‘You can both jump into the Thames and drown, you damn knobs (idiots/assholes).’_

“Fine,” you simply answer, teeth painfully clenched and nails piercing the soft skin of your palms. “Send my best to Mr. Derrick, then.”

The way this Blighter is staring at you does not bode well and it’s not even the first time he literally devours you with his hungry eyes. As much as he tries to act dangerous, pretending to be irritated by your actions and straightforward answers, you can tell how much that actually pleases him judging by the way he licks his lips and slightly growls each time.

And it makes you want to cringe and puke right here and now. If he dares lifting a single finger over you he will definitely find himself with a blade into his guts tonight, no matter the consequences.

However, relief washes over you when he finally steps back with a silent grin and walks away, stomping on the wooden floor and crossing the threshold before disappearing along the flight of stairs and into the street.

The moment you find youself alone again in your precarious apartment, you can’t help but scream in frustration and kick the chair in front of you in an attempt to vent your growing anger. You casually watch the object as it immediatly breaks in half, flying across the dining room and hitting the wall next to the still half open door.

There’s no actual end for this nightmare of yours, isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

“Thank you, Miss.”

You gladly take the offered money into your hands and gently smile at the man who taps his hat and resumes his previous activities. Tucking the earnings into your pocket you pat one of the two horses towing the carriage, but opt for a relaxing walk in Whitechapel instead of driving.

Conducting deliveries every single day for a simple few coins and knowing you can barely spend them for yourself is not exactly what you were expecting the day you started a new life in London. You don’t even know how exactly you ended up in such a difficult situation, yet you always refused to give up and escape from your responsibilities, even if you could pack your stuff and jump on the first ship abandoning the city once and for all. It’s not like Mr. Derrik and his Blighters would be able to track you down if you left the Country forever, right?

Realistically speaking, it could actually be the best solution to your troubles; no more written threats or malicious brutes knocking on your door every single month expecting a bucket of money. Nevertheless, the thought of being a vagabond for the rest of your existence is anything but appealing, you only ask for a normal life with a solid job and a secure home to return to… nothing more than these two simple and common wishes.  
Running away has never been a thing for you and despite your constant anxiety and insecurities about your future in the capital, you still intend to stay where you are and keep fighting no matter the cost. You had the chance to see this town in all its glory when you were still a wandering teenager and if you had to explain what draws you to it exactly you wouldn’t even be able to find the right answer.  
You simply feel it, London got under your skin like something dear you want to protect at all costs, abandoning it would mean being thrown back to the starter line and it’s definitely the last thing you want to mark on your list of total failures.

It already took you long enough to become what you are today. Losing your landmark now is something you really don’t want to experience, as much as you hate Derrick and the way his minions dressed in red keep harassing you for the pending rent (and probably much more than that).

Whitechapel is particularly crowded today, carriages getting stuck into the traffic every now and then. A bunch of wealthy people can be spotted walking coolly along the streets, in contrast with the lonely and dirty kids abandoned by the wayside. Your heart breaks in thousands pieces whenever you see them pleading for a simple penny without being acknowledged, if you didn’t have such a painful dept weighting over your your shoulders you would shower those poor souls with a pile of coins twice a day or more.

And it’s exactly in moments like these that your guilt for occasionally stealing from the oblivious rich fades away from your chest completely. Even though your incomes are not as substantial as they should be, you totally hate behaving like a thief in disguise with the sole purpose of increasing your weekly earnings.

But, do they actually have anything to lose?

You definitely do, as much as the kids who only have one item of clothing to preserve and are struggling to buy a damn slice of bread at the end of the day.

Lost in your thoughts you barely notice a group of men and women with a familiar green suit appearing from an alley a few steps away, laughing cheerfully and putting their guns and knives back in their supportive holsters. They act like everything’s cool and no blood is dripping from their blades nor staining their clothes, ignoring the outraged glances they’re receiving from the ordinary citizens around.

The Rooks.

You’ve heard a lot of stories about this gang, mostly negative… but as long as they stay away from you and keep their attention focused on ruining the Blighters’ manipulative plans, the fact they’re not exactly the picture of innocence and are basically covered in blood honestly doesn’t bother you in any way.

And you were not even prone to violence, once.

Funny how certain events and encounters in your life can radically change your ideals and perspective, erasing any trace of remorse whenever you wish someone’s death.

What really captures your attention, however, is the man walking in the middle and fixing his top hat, the long brown coat swinging slightly with every step he takes and it’s quite an eyesore surrounded by all that green. You carefully follow the group maintaining a discreet distance as a security measure, watching them as one by one the Rooks take a different path leaving that one guy behind and alone among the crowd.

Damn if that outfit looks utterly expensive, though!

You can distinctly see some polished leather over his long jacket, not to mention that bracer adorning his left arm which also has some kind of golden accessories carved into it. The man clearly doesn’t know what misery is and that thought alone is more than enough for you to increase your pace and getting ever closer to his figure.

You intentionally bump on him from behind and immediatly find the little bag of money attached to his belt, your fingers being precise and too delicate to be felt even on a more direct contact.

Ha! This is your lucky day it seems!

The stranger staggers, taken by surprise with your body literally crashed against his, your eyes lay over his features and for a moment you forget how to properly breathe as those beautiful hazel gems reciprocate the gaze, his arm unconsciously wrapping around your shoulders to hold you there and keep his balance against the brick wall.

“My apologies, Sir,” you breath out with your right hand firmly around your prize, pulling imperceptibly to detatch the object from its prop. “The traffic is insane today, isn’t it?”

The man’s lips spread into a big, flirtatious smile. “Are you hurt, love?”

_‘Love’?_ Well, he certainly isn’t wasting time.

“Not at all,” you reply, feeling the item falling completely into your firm grip. “Please, forgive my clumsiness.”

“Anytime, _Dove_.”

_‘Ugh, enough with the pet names, please.’_

You keep smiling seductively to keep his attention well far from the money bag slipping under your own jacket, stepping away from his solid body and turning on your heels once the item is fully hidden and out of the man’s reach. You can feel his eyes burning two holes in the back of your head as you leave, but considering the generous loot you got from his belt you can give him such a privilege, after all.

But then, you don’t see him when he starts checking said belt with a suspicious expression and feels it clearly emptier than it’s supposed to be.

“Oy!”

The way he calls you is not exactly alluring now and you can hear the sound of franctic footsteps approaching. Throwing a quick glance over your shoulder you see him rushing after you with knitted eyebrows and hands closed into fists along his sides, a visible rage forming over his features.

_‘What does he want, now?’_

“Come back here!”

“Oh, shit!”

Your feet start moving on their own accord breaking through the passers-by, people grunting in annoyance whenever you not so gently push them out of your way.

The man is getting even closer, running as fast as you and jumping over a carriage to avoid what would probably be a deadly impact. If you thought you were facing one of the many ignorant rich bastards you were oh so wrong, your breath cut short and you’re getting a horrible feeling of bitter panic growing inside of you.

_‘I need a plan, now!”_

You shouldn’t be surprised, anyway. It was just a matter of time before someone could finally find out about your little trick and catch you red-handed.

_‘Maybe I can climb that building, if I manage to-’_

Something heavy pushes you face on the ground, your right arm painfully twisted against your back by a strong hand. A warm, shortened breath tickles your exposed neck as you try to catch yours and it takes you a moment to finally register what is truly going on with a burning chest and heart pounding violently in your ears.

“Well now love, that’s not very polite.”

‘What the-’

“I believe you have something of mine there in your pockets.”

You can hear the whispering all around, people judging and gossiping over that charming man pushing a woman under him in front of the Whitechapel station. In a different situation this could be tremendously embarrassing for you, but it’s clearly not what you have in mind at the very moment, painfully pressed on the cold street by a particularly strong bloke (and guess who you need to thank for this).

“Let me go!”

Your body is lifted from the cobblestone road like it weights nothing, arm still pressed on your lower back as he steps foward and drags you with him tightening the grip.

“Not a word,” he growls threateningly. “I recommend you stop struggling, my dear.”

“I said let me go, you’re hurting me!” You wriggle.

Where is he taking you, anyway?

“I said be quiet!”

Your right arm is completely immobilized by his powerful grasp, which will probably leave a vivid bruise on your wrist in spite of the long jacket sleeve. Better let him lead the way without protesting at this point, whatever he plans to do with you now it certainly cannot be worse than all the times you found yourself alone with the bald prick in your apartment and Mr. Derrick holding a cold knife against your cheek.

_Right?_

As soon as you reach a dark alleyway well hidden from prying eyes, the man unceremoniously throws you against a pile of wooden crates freeing your arm from his iron grip and watching you smugly from where he stands.

“Is that your way to treat a lady? And you said I was impolite.”

You are not exactly in the right position to mock the one who just dragged you into a secluded area. This man could shoot you, stab you or something even worse at any time, but here you are teasing him without even trying to restrain yourself.

He chuckles. “Well well. You got such a sharp tongue there, have you?”

You just can’t hide your satisfied grin at that remark. “So I’ve been told.”

The man kneels in front of you and studies your entire appearance tilting his head with a soft hum of approval. The beard framing his jaw looks sharp and rough, the soft scars streaking his left cheek and right eyebrow are white and soft, probably old reminders of past fights.

Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t look as dangerous as he seemed before during the chase, eyes softening the moment he sees you rubbing your wrist back and forth to soothe the pain he has inflicted there with his masculine strength.

“Does it hurt?” There’s no mockery in his voice.

“Do you even care?”

He sighs. “Listen, I only want back what belongs to me. You are such a filthy little thief and I think you should learn one thing or two.”

“I’m not a thief!”

Mr. Top Hat raises an eyebrow at you now. “I beg to differ, Dove.“

You can feel the irritation boiling in your veins. “Can you just stop with the pet names? I’m not a friggin bird!”

With an abrupt gesture he grabs the lapel of your jacket and pulls it on the side, gloved hand slipping in your pocket where a small bump can be seen pocking out from it. “Oh god, you’re such a pain.”

Guilt and frustration hit you hard in the guts when he takes the small bag into his hand, proving how petty and sneaky you appear to his eyes.

“You don’t understand,” you say then, hair falling on your face and covering your hurt expression. “How could you?”

Just a few coins may help fixing your life completely and people like him shamelessly walk around showing off their pretty outfits - which, with no doubt, cost a fortune - criticizing who dares to steal in order to survive.

Are you really that despicable only because you’re trying to settle down and keep a roof over your head?

“You got your money back,” you continue, pouring the fury burning inside of you into his hazel gaze. “Are we done?”

He remains silent for a moment, staring at you with a pensive look before standing on his feet and extending his hand in front of you. If the man thinks you’re letting him help you like nothing happened he’s certainly vazey (stupid) for even thinking it. Instead, you push yourself up on your own and dust off the sleeves of your jacket, forcing him to put the hand back along his side.

“You know what I think, love? You may be a great fit into my Rooks.”

_Wait, what?_

You blink in confusion a few times, cleaning up your mind to be sure you heard him right. “That almost sounds like a job offer.”

He lowers down on you slightly, a playful smile spreading his lips. “Doesn’t it?”

You shake your head, throwing a quick glance on the shilling necklace falling gently above his chest. “I don’t understand. I just tried to steal your money and you called me ‘filthy little thief’ a moment ago.”

Now he wants you to work for him?

He sighs again. “I’m offering you a way out.”

“A way out from what?”

“From whatever is putting you here, stealing on the streets.”

You thought someone like him would never figure it out. You were sure a man like the one standing here, so cocky and full of himself, could only care about his own being without taking a single moment to watch beyond his nose.

Are you judging people way too hard and picturing them in a totally wrong way?

As much as you’d love to find your way out, the truth is you don’t really know this man nor the people he hangs out with. Furthermore, becoming a Rook would also mean putting yourself against the Blighters and inevitably declaring war to Raymond Derrick.  
It’s technically appealing, but the bastard and his men in red already know where you live… and the last thing you want is involve these unknown people in a conflict that doesn’t really belong to them.

Maybe you need to stop being so stubborn and wanting to do everything by yourself. Still, would they actually protect you? Would you be safe in their company or are the green guys as bad and arrogant as the Blighters?

No, you have to do this your own way.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

Considering how hard he inhales you can tell he’s disappointed by your rejection, but he accepts your answer in defeat with a nod of his head. “If you change your mind, come find me.”

You snicker. “I don’t even know who you are, nor where you come from.”

He wastes no time clarifying any doubt you have. “I’m Jacob Frye. And I’m sure I’ll see you around quite soon, love. Keep your eyes open.”

“You wish.”

You can’t believe how amused and satisfied he is again hearing your stinging response. “Oh, I surely do.”

You watch his back as he turns away and walks out of the alleyway, the moderately warm sun embracing his figure and making his whole image shine.

Things have taken an unexpected turn today. Biting your lower lip you wonder if refusing the man’s offer has really been a wise decision or the biggest mistake of your entire life.

_‘I guess I’ll never know, will I?’_


	2. Chapter 2

The past few days have been extremely tiring for you. Ironically, spending the whole time delivering packages around the city on a carriage has proven to be even more exhausting than your old factory job, where your physical strength was put to the test over and over again and the pulled muscles became quite a daily habit.

Maybe it’s because, at that time, you didn’t have to worry about ending up in dept with your rent and constantly pray for your safety. Derrick and his Blighters were already cringeworthy whenever you had to see them in your apartment, but at least you were not risking to meet the sharp blade of a knife at a short distance like today.

Therefore, a pint or two are definitely in order tonight.

The pub in Whitechapel is quite crowded, green coats can be spotted literally at each table. For a moment you don’t feel exactly comfortable sitting in a corner surrounded by a dozen Rooks, but all your concerns are washed away by the alcohol little by little, realizing they don’t even stare at you once and keep drinking as if you were not there at all.

They’re toasting, laughing, singing out loud. You even take a quick look around expecting to see their boss approaching at any time, but there is literally no trace of Mr. Jacob Frye in the entire London and more than a week has passed since the two of you met in that really odd way.

_“I’m sure I’ll see you around quite soon, love. Keep your eyes open.”_

You did, alright. As strange as it may sound you even hoped to meet him a second time after that brief encounter. He had the chance to hurt you, kill you in the isolated alleyway he dragged you in, make you pay for your brash gesture and yet he didn’t.

He sounded sincere the moment he offered you to be part of his gang, he was interested in getting you on his side and eventually pay you for the work done. Among all people he could choose from he picked the one who slipped one hand under his coat and took the money bag underneath; that man must be mad as a hatter.

But, at the end of the day, who isn’t?

You certainly were the moment you accepted to occupy Derrick’s apartment, so naive and desperate to leave your grimy hotel room and find a better place to sleep in without the risk of contracting consumption or any other deadly disease.

You had just heard a certain business owner named Raymond Derrick was offering a few flats without too much paperwork, provided the tenants would regularly pay at the end of each month. You were younger and with what seemed like a more than safe employment. Derrick had trusted you, were it not for your boss whom thought you would gladly accept a more beneficial position into his bed.

From that moment, everything started to fall apart piece by piece and go down the hill. Dealing with someone as dangerous as Derrick is already hard enough, having his subordinates after you all the time is seriously putting your patience to a test. He probably wants to ensure you’re not spending your earnings for yourself, wasting coins over useless stuff such as pretty dresses and valuable jewels to show off the wealthy life you’d pretend to have.

A similar risk, thankfully, would never exist since you are all too comfortable with your trousers and without the weight of showy necklaces and earrings as big as chandeliers, but it’s not like you can also starve because of your pending dept and their watchful eye.

Emptying the glass with a long swig you loudly place it back on the wooden table and stand from your chair to leave the overly rowdy pub, a few Rooks throw a rapid glance at you when the glass hits the surface, but they go back to their celebrations ignoring the disgusted noise coming from your throat.

_‘At least you’ve got something to celebrate, damn bastards.’_

The night air feels cold against your skin and you unconsciously cross your arms to gain more heat from your own body. The streets are quiet now, only a few carriages crossing the road, lit by the lanterns hanging from them and swinging at every jump over the wet pebbles.

A well deserved rest in your comfortable bed is surely something you’re looking forward to, especially considering you may lose such a wonderful privilege sooner than you think. Derrick can’t really get rid of you as long as you place your money into his pockets, whether or not the monthly earnings you offer are enough to cover your shortfall. But the question is, will you actually be able to keep going this way? You still refuse to get on a ship throwing away all your sacrifices and giving up on the city you so much love.

And suddenly, your blood runs cold as a pair of hands get a hold of your waist from behind, forcing you to stumble along the sidewalk and divert your route home through a dark alley.

Again.

From the corner of your eye you can recognize the red jacket you know all too well and feel a ravenous breath on the back of your neck. You wriggle free with no efforts only to find yourself blocked by a familiar figure towering on you with the usual mocking smile.

“Look what we have here. Hello, my precious Snowflake.”

“What the hell do you want now?” You snap. “It’s not the end of the month yet, I’ve got no money for you today.”

More steps echo around you and more Blighters appear into the darkness, their malicious snicker filling your ears and twisting your stomach with a painful vise for their proximity and naughty intentions.

“You wound me, darling. I just wanted to see my favorite girl, is that a crime?”

You feel like a mouse trapped by a group of hungry cats. “How nice of you.”

“Sharp as usual, I see. I’m really tired of your attitude, girl, it’s time for me to teach you a lesson and fill your mouth with a more… appropriate vocabulary.”

More laughter in unison, three men in red stepping forward and more hands grabbing your wrists to keep you pressed against them.

“Stay away from me!”

The bald prick smirks down at you. “You clearly have not realized the severity of your situation. The boss wants to keep you alive for a bit longer, but that doesn’t mean I cannot have some fun with you in the meantime.”

Everything happens so fast then, that you can barely take the time to properly think. The moment he grabs your coat and forces it off with a harsh tug, your knee immediatly collides with his stomach and a guttural scream comes out from his gaping mouth. With the back of your head you instantly break a Blighter’s nose with a hard blow when the man grabs your shoulders and tries to rip up your shirt, tearing off a button from its collar. Your knuckles turn red after a few well-aimed punches, though you are still outnumbered and with less body mass on your part. The fly rink recovers from your kick and angrily slaps you across the face, a trickle of blood slides down your chin from the corner of your lips and the burning sensation on your cheek is clouding your senses as you try to shrink back from his grip. The man’s strong hand pins you not so gently against the wall, thick fingers clenching around the hem of your shirt while you scream your lungs out in a hopeless call for help.

A strangled cry rumbles from his chest and his grasp loosens, followed by other grunts and gasps and the sound of a blade piercing flesh after flesh around you.

Your legs start quivering and you crouch on the dirty ground unable to move any further. Another hand comes down to you and brushes your shaky arm with a soft touch, but retreats when you defensively cover your head pleading with a broken voice, “No no no no, please! Don’t do this!”

You hear someone taking a deep breath and kneeling next to you, gloved fingers stroking your hair gently and halting on the small of your back. “Calm down love, I’m not going to hurt you.”

You definitely heard that voice before…

“It’s over.”

When you finally dare to look up and lower your arms, you are greeted by a pair of hazel eyes partially glowing in the darkness and reflecting the distant lights. The top hat is still on his head and you recognize his dark brown hair, the same expensive outfit and the shilling necklace swaying softly against the naked skin of his upper chest.

And you see them right in that instant, the lifeless bodies of the Blighters bathing in their own blood.

“This isn’t happening,” you say then, heart still racing against your chest and tears lingering in your fiery eyes. “God, tell me that didn’t really happen.”

“Well… I wish I could, love-”

“Why are you here?” You ask reflexively. “Why did you even bother?”

He smiles then, pulling away from you and exposing his perfect teeth. “Now now. You really expect me to just ignore a lady in distress? What kind of gentleman would I be?”

“I see no lady here, Mr. Frye. I am nothing but a filthy little thief, remember?”

Still, you can’t help but grin at his bizarre gallantry. He just saved you from a traumatic experience, after all.

“Oh please, give me a break.” He chuckles. “I’m well over it.”

“Are you now?”

“I know you didn’t really want to steal from me. I can see you’re dealing with something bigger than you, here.”

You could lie, tell him he got it all wrong and you’re exactly as bad as he thought you were the first time he met you, but there’s no more reason to hide what already lies in front of him now.

“I am,” you answer in defeat. “I’m actually screwed.”

“Then let me fix it.”

A part of you would love to cling to his clothes and beg him to set you free from the nightmare in which you’ve lived for months. You can’t even describe how much fear you had to endure, but would you be able to trust a man you’ve met only once before, someone who managed to take so many lives in a flash with a quick yet precise shot?

“Listen, I am grateful for what you’ve done tonight, but you should stay out of it.”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

You roll your eyes. “This is not a game, Mr. Frye.”

His gloved fingers gently grab your chin and lift it up, turning your face to take a better look at the fresh, stinging wound over your mouth.

“I can see that. Those bloody dogs were not playing nicely with you.”

Admittedly, the palpable anger in his deep voice is quite flattering.

“I don’t like the comparison, I love dogs.”

Once again, Mr. Top Hat is clearly amused by your way of talking and the cold blood you’re showing in front of so many corpses. Such a display would make any Londoner scream and immediatly run to the Blue Bottles (policemen), yet you don’t seem particularly disturbed while staring at a similar scene surrounding you.

But, despite your visible relief, the hurt in your eyes is almost blinding and you look like a caged bird that seeks freedom and needs to spread a pair of beautiful wings kept bound for too long.

“As you wish, no more comparisons involving dogs. Now, could you please tell me who’s after you?”

Maybe it is time for you to finally abandon your pride and accept the fact you’ve already done enough by your own.

You sigh. “I lost my job a few months ago. Paying for the rent has been an impossible task ever since.”

Jacob listens carefully, silently reaching for your discarded and forgotten coat as you hug yourself when the first raindrops wet your skin with their cold streaks.

You continue. “The apartment belongs to a business man; Raymond Derrick. that fly rink over there works-worked for him and knocked at my door every single month to get the money on his behalf.”

You welcome the warmth coming from your jacket the moment he places it back on you, although the light rain is already dampening your clothes and you brush a few locks away from your soaking face.

Jacob’s expression, however, drastically changed the moment he heard that name coming from your lips. “Did you say ‘Raymond Derrick’?”

“You know him?”

He stands, offering his hand to you under the intensified rain.

You gladly accept it this time, putting your smaller one into his palm and letting him pull you back on your feet. “Oh, you are lucky. The man is one of my targets.”

“Targets?”

“He’s no business man, I can tell you that. And I just happen to have one more reason to end his life.”

You were not exactly sure about said ‘business’, thus you are not particularly surprised to hear Derrick is not the person he always claimed to be.

“What do you say, love? Are you with me?”

Jacob Frye owns a whole gang of armed men and women, being himself a brutal killer who didn’t hesitate to jump between you and those horny bastards. You should probably be afraid of him and the hidden weapons he carries under that embroidered coat, but the only thing you feel seeing his smile and feeling his supportive touch is… confidence.

“Hell yes,” you nod franctically. “I want him to suffer for what he’s done to me.”

“Excellent! You are a tough one, Dove.”

In all honesty, the pet name you hated the first time now warms your cheeks in contrast with the freezing rain still pouring on your skin. Whoever this gang leader is and whatever he does for a living does not concern you, you’ve seen enough blood and violence in this town to know you have to pick your allies wisely according to their offerings and Jacob Frye has shown nothing but kindness and comprehension despite your sticky fingers and thirst for his coins.

It matters little to you that your wrist hurt for days due to the force he put around it while dragging you after your little trick.

“Always, Mr. Frye.”

Your smug comment visibly enlightens his eyes. “Does this cheeky bird also have a name?”

This is your second encounter with the mysterious and flirty Jacob Frye. Considering the turn of events tonight, you have a feeling this won’t even be the last. You don’t know him, but for rescuing you from a group of famished Blighters you certainly own the man this much.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, mh? I like the sound of it. Now, shall we?”

 

 

 

 

You are literally freezing to death with your damp hair plastered on your face and the soaked clothes sending cold shocks along your entire body whenever you take a step. Jacob is as soggy as you are and a few dark strands have fallen on his forehead, he is incredibly impassive after a similar icy shower as the two of you keep walking in Devil’s Acre, the crisp air aggressively biting your wet nose.

_‘At least it’s not raining anymore.’_

The blood on your chin has been washed away completely by the running water, but the pain in your cheek is still intense and judging by the way Jacob stares at it from time to time, you are quite sure it’s getting swollen or ridiculously red for the hard hit.

The moment you reach the One Turn Pub you immediatly put a hand over Jacob’s arm coming to a stop halfway. Your heart races when you spot those thugs in red, a beer in one hand, enjoying the night air comfortably scattered on the wooden chairs outside.

Because of the unstable weather you were not sure to find them in their usual spot, but here they are again, perfectly dried and back on their tankards. They certainly do not waste time, do they?

“There,” you whisper, taking a step back and tightening your grip around Jacob’s arm. “You see that man with the scar on his cheekbone? That one is Derrick’s second in command.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

Mr. Frye is thrilled at the thought of a good fistfight. You, on the other hand, would gladly stay miles away from them and any other Red Jacket for the rest of your life.

“Just don’t rush it, please. I don’t really feel like having their hands on me a second time.”

Sensing your discomfort and the increasing grip around his elbow, Jacob takes a deep breath to calm his boiling blood. “I won’t let them, love.”

Having someone by your side, determined to protect you the way he did, is something you’re not used to and it warms your heart. Smiling softly, you finally pull away with a quick nod. “Let’s go.”

With decisive, marching steps, the two of you approach the group of thugs covering the short distance. It takes them a moment to realize they’re no longer alone, a satisfied grin on their faces.

“Well well well, if it isn’t our precious Snowflake! Fancy meeting you here. Did you miss me, darling?”

Jacob intervenes, putting himself in front of you in a protective manner. “Good evening, gentlemen. Would you be so kind to answer a few questions for us?”

The leader’s clouded eyes shift from your soggy image to Jacob’s taller and more intimidating figure. “And who the hell are you? Her bodyguard?”

“We have some unfinished business with your dear boss,” Jacob continues, ignoring the threatening tone aimed at him. “Now, we only need to find him.”

You both knew asking nicely wouldn’t bring you anywhere.

“Oh! And you expect me to tell ya, lad? Keep dreaming, then.”

The general laughter that follows is more than enough to put you on edge, if only you could wipe their arrogant smiles and throw them into the Thames like bags of rotted potatoes.

Jacob leans on the table, slowly putting his hands on the surface and snickering with confidence as his own smirk grows. “I would do as I say. We don’t really want to do something we may regret, do we?”

The other men carefully place their tankard on the tables and stand menacingly. You can already feel the tension in the air, no chance this is going to end in a peaceful way now.

Scarred Face leans forward narrowing his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

Jacob shrugs. “Maybe it is.”

The sudden stillness in the air makes you shiver in anticipation, forcing you to take a step back and anxiously breath in.

The thug lifts the heavy tankard into his hand and crashes it against Jacob, who promptly deflects the blow using his right arm as barrier. The object breaks in half and the remaining beer splashes over his coat and in the thug’s face, the other men throw themselves on Jacob, starting a harsh fight with thunderous punches and flying blades. Mr. Frye avoids every attack and responds as violently with extraordinary precision, the brass knuckles on his right hand is already dripping in blood.

One by one, the men fall limply on the ground and the innkeeper rushes outside trying in vain to contain the unleashed brawl. The One Turn is not exactly known for its good reputation, anyway. You wouldn’t expect less from London’s most dangerous pub.

With a final kick, Jacob sends Scarred Face over a table, which immediatly crashes under his weight. Panting heavily he pushes himself up on the elbows only to find Mr. Frye knelt down in front of him and a gloved hand tugging his collar. “I’m asking again. Where can we find Mr. Raymond Derrick?”

You’ve met that man a few times in the past while dealing with his boss and the whole gang. Seeing him with such a frightened expression is almost unnatural, but damn if you like the satisfaction growing inside of you!

“He’s c-concluding a deal at the Waterloo Station. I-if you hurry y-you might still catch him.”

“Thanks! That wasn’t so hard, mh?”

Jacob stands and walks away from the defeated thug, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to take you away from the crime scene. You’ve seen enough violence for tonight, but considering you’re going after Derrick with the sole intention of wiping his existence from this world, you know it is probably just the beginning and you’ll need to adjust to this new kind of life one way or another.

“You damn cunt.”

You both stop in your tracks hearing those words uttered with rising anger.

“My boss should’ve killed you long ago.”

You’ve been calm and passive for the entire fight, leaving the dirty work to Jacob as you were standing there, motionless, without properly reacting. This time, your feet move on their own accord as you turn on your heels and step over the bodies laid on the moist ground, right hand clenched in a shaking fist along your side.

You don’t even care about the innkeeper who’s grunting by himself while cleaning his place from the broken chairs and glasses, as you raise your arm and knock out the bastard who just insulted you with a hard blow - knuckles turning purple for the powerful collision.

All your anger and resentment have come to the surface, burning in your chest like an increasing fire. No words need to be spoken whilst you simply stare at the unconscious man under you, before spitting on his jacket and turning around with an aggressive gait.

“Nice one,” says Jacob, admiration spreading into his hazel eyes.

Damn if it feels so good indeed!

“I can do better than that, Mr. Frye. Just wait and see.”


	3. Chapter 3

In all honesty, you almost thought the thug’s confession was merely a lie to protect himself and throw you and Mr. Frye off completely. You felt extremely relieved, however, the moment you found Raymond Derrick exactly where the man said he would be tonight.  
Unfortunately, the Waterloo Station was quite crowded and well guarded all over the place, there absolutely was no way for you to get closer and take Derrick’s life without creating havoc, nor getting the police after you and generate an exhausting chase destined to end badly.

At some point, Jacob had told you to leave the station and take a sit on a carriage a short distance from the main entrance, joining you shortly after and taking the reins into his hands.

You flinched in your sit when Derrick finally appeared and crossed the street to hop on another cab. When the horses started dragging the opposite vehicle away from the station, Jacob dexterously shook the reins and followed your target with a slower ride to avoid detection.  
You have also learned the truth about Raymond Derrick along the way; the man is, in fact, a so called _Templar_ under the leadership of the Grandmaster and Industry owner Crawford Starrick, just like many other ‘puppets’ used to take control over the entire city unbeknownst to anyone.

Truth to be told, you once met Mr. Starrick briefly due to an established appointment with Derrick in Covent Garden for one of your montly payments, right where the two were clearly discussing some shady deals and exchanging complicit glances heedless of your punctuality.  
The man was flaunting a striking outfit made of leather and a silky loosened scarf around his neck. He even bothered to nod politely at you muttering a soft “Miss” when you approached, but from his stern, cold green eyes and the strange secrecy unveiled at your arrival, you could tell such an important figure had tons of dark secrets to keep hidden up his embroidered sleeve.

Now you are waiting in the dark as Derrick hops off the carriage with two Blighters escorting him, disappearing into a building supervised by what seem like ten more guards in red around the secluded mansion. Taking action in the Waterloo Station was definitely out of the question, but acting here with a similar number of Blighters (not counting the ones surely inside) is not exactly an easier task as the two of you were expecting. Jacob removes his top hat and crumples it with his fingers, placing the now flat object under his coat with one hand while using the other to lift a hood you didn’t know was there in the first place.

You unwillingly accept to wait for him on the carriage the moment he asks you to stay out of sight and be prepared for his upcoming signal. Contrary to Jacob you carry no weapon and have minor combat experience despite your strength and remarkable willpower.

You were already lucky once, better not to tempt fate any further at this point.

So you wait. The silence that falls all around is a bit alarming and no more cabs cross the street at this hour of the night. You were expecting some battle screams and gunshots in the air, but nothing can be heard except the crickets singing their nocturnal song and the wind whistling in your ears.

The moment Jacob calls your name from behind the gate, you walk to him at a brisk pace and stare at the man with a puzzled expression. “I thought you were taking care of the-”

Jacob arches a brow with complacency when the lifeless bodies on the ground, a bleeding wound in their backs, immediatly catch your attention as soon as you cross the gateway.

“-uh… nevermind.”

He didn’t tell you what his part in this whole story is and you don’t understand how this guy managed to take down so many men and women, without being seen nor heard, in a bat of an eye. They got the same treatment your attackers received earlier in Whitechapel and even in Devil’s Acre he finished the work without stumbling once or getting a single scratch.

“Are you sure you want to do this, love?”

Jacob must have noticed the thoughtful look on your face.

“You’ve seen a lot in one night, I must say.”

You respond decisively. “This is my business too, Jacob. I intend to finish what I started, we went too far to stop now.”

You can tell Mr. Frye is not feeling as confident as he was when he asked you to be his partner in crime and run after your persecutor. Is he fearing to involve you in something dangerous and put your own life at stake?

Your physical endurance and melee skills, albeit basic, allowed you to defend yourself in the alleyway and knock out a man in Devil’s Acre. He wouldn’t have asked you to take part in his hunting if he thought you couldn’t measure up at all.

“All right, bricky girl. But if you want to go up there with me, you’ll need a weapon.”

Your eyes divert on the scattered corpses on the ground. “I guess I can take one from these guys.”

Something cold is pressed against the rough skin of your palm as Jacob’s gloved fingers close around your smaller ones, letting you go only when your hold is perfectly firm around the weapon’s grip.

“You’ll have mine.”

The firearm is heavy, black metal with some golden adornment carved around the barrel and top strap. It definitely feels unusual, but also flattering considering he’s trusting you enough to let you carry one of his personal effects.

“What about you?”

A blade appears from the underside of his bracer with a quick flick of his wrist. “I have my arsenal,” he says proudly. “Whatever happens, love, don’t hesitate.”

Easier said than done for someone who’s already killed countless times before, while you are holding a pistol, with excessive force, for the first time ever in your life. “I’ll try. What’s the plan?”

“Derrick is on the third floor. If we’re quiet enough we can surprise him without drawing too much attention.”

You blink in confusion and wave your hand in front of you. “Wait, hold on. How do you know this?”

Jacob looks at you with another mischievous smile. “You’d be delighted to see all my secret abilities, Dove.”

“You don’t say.”

He crouches on the ground and beckons you to follow with a motion of his fingers, stealthily sliding under an open window and keeping an ear out. You can hear the sound of heavy footsteps over you as a man walks back and forth on the wooden floor, muttering to himself in a low voice and halting in front of your way in.

“Wait, what the-oh shit!”

The moment he spots the dead bodies lying in plain sight into the courtyard, the guard freaks out and a rustle of clothing put both you and Jacob on the defensive. Your partner acts in that moment, quickly standing from his hiding spot and sticking the hidden blade into the man’s throat. The guttural groans and desperate gasps send shivers along your spine, but you keep following Jacob’s lead even when the Blighter falls on his back with a loud thud.

Once inside, Jacob runs to the flight of stairs and protectively pushes you behind him when more voices rumble in the room from the upper floor.

“How many Blighters do we have to take down?” You whisper, fingers shuddering against the firearm’s trigger.

“We’ve got two on us,” he responds. “Think you can take one from behind?”

You nod your head sharing the same determination, reassuringly squeezing his shoulder to let him know you’re ready to proceed.

He silently goes up the stairs and peeps from behind the wall waiting for the perfect moment to strike, the two men you’ve heard on the lower floor are now facing the fireplace and have their backs perfectly exposed for any kind of attack. You and Jacob have an arm around their neck in an instant, forcibly pressing it against their jugular vein to make them lose consciousness whilst they groan in frustration and slide on the floor like a pair of ragdolls afterwards.

Luckily enough, the following two floors are clear from any Blighter and you manage to reach your destination smoothly and without being detected nor raising suspect. Your heart pounds wildly into your chest to the point it hurts and even shortens your breath, the forming tension making you feel as someone had punched you violently and kicked you in the lungs several times.

You are so close now, too close. Only a door and a few more guards separating you from your demons and the much longed freedom.

You hear it then, Derrick’s voice echoing through the walls and hitting you right into the guts. You hold Jacob’s firearm with both your hands inhaling deeply, savoring the victory which is now a stone’s throw, but still too far to be savored properly.

Jacob doesn’t miss the shaky and stirred breath coming from your mouth. “Y/N?”

You react quickly. “I’m fine. Let’s get it over with.”

With that said, Jacob silently sneaks into the room and surprises the remaining Blighters taking them down one by one, until you’re finally in front of the final door with the pistol ready and your fingers tingling around the trigger guard.

Judging by the muffled conversation coming from the opposite room you can tell there is another man inside with Derrick. Jacob extracts a short silver knife from an inside pocket, prompting you to open the door and holding the sharp blade between his fingers.

It is time.

Placing your sweaty hand over the cold handle you take another deep breath and push the barrier open, raising the firearm in front of you right when Jacob’s knife flies across the room and hits the Blighter in the forehead with utter precision.

Derrick is pressed against his desk now, hands raised in surrender as he shifts his wide black eyes from you to Jacob repeatedly.

“Now now, Mr. Derrick. Looks like we reached the end of the games.”

Jacob’s mocking voice roars into your chest, but you keep your own eyes locked over the man you so much despise. Derrick’s confusion becomes irritation the moment he finally stops looking like a fish out of water and stares at you with his usual look of superiority.

“Y/N, what a surprise. Are you playing with guns now?”

You can already feel a good amount of rage growing in you.

“On your knees,” you command, taking a step forward and putting the pistol’s barrel ever closer to Derrick’s face.

The man, however, answers with an amused laugh.

“I said: On.Your.Knees.”

Your voice sounds more like a snarl, which is enough to alarm the man in front of you and convince him to carefully kneel down, swollowing and keeping his dark pools over the young woman he toyed with for far too long.

“You tortured my mind and threatened me for almost a year without the shadow of remorse. Put your filthy men after me, who thought it was right to touch me and tear my clothes apart.”

“What my men do in their spare time is not my business.”

Your fingers twitch and the firearm collides with Derrick’s nose, a loud crack resounds all around and a stream of blood flows from his nostrils staining the collar of his jacket.

“Let me guess; even what Starrick is plotting in the shadows does not involve you in any way, right?”

Derrick whimpers, a shaky hand closing around his broken and bleeding nose. “What do you know?”

“Oh, she knows more than you ever did,” Jacob responds, boldly taking a step closer and towering over the Templar.

Despite being in a very uncomfortable position, Derrick still dares to mock you with his evil laughter. “So naive, both of you. You think that killing me will be enough to stop Mr. Starrick and his empire? You brats know nothing.”

“Maybe,” you say calmly, pistol pressed between his eyes as you watch him with raging resentment. “But it’s a start.”

Without further ado, your index finger moves on the trigger and a resonant shot explodes from the firearm, piercing Derrick’s skull as the blood floods over the table behind and in a puddle on the floor. You watch his body collapsing on the planks which creak under it, the red liquid spreading and almost touching your muddy boots.

A warm hand comes down, reaching your lowering wrist and gently taking the weapon away from your loosened grip. “It’s done, love.”

It is, indeed. You are free, finally free.

“Take me away from this place,” you plead, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were so painfully holding.

You have killed a man. You ended a life.

And you even enjoyed it.

 

 

 

 

It took you a while to fully register in your mind what happened tonight. A moment before you were drinking a pint of beer in Whitechapel and making sad considerations about your uncertain future in London. The next minute you were holding a smoking gun over Derrick’s body, almost stepping on his blood and sneaking away like a murderer on the run.

Jacob is still by your side, silently walking with you in Westminster under the cloudy sky. It looks like it could rain all over again at any moment, but you do not seem willing to go back yet. Placing your elbows on the parapet you take a deep breath and enjoy the soft ripples dancing in the river, the lights radiated from the lamp posts reflect on the surface creating bright shapes into the water.

“I know it’s not easy, love,” Says Jacob, finally breaking the agonizing silence and brushing a hand over your shoulder. “It never is the first time.”

“I figured as much,” you comment with a bitter smile. “You know, for just a moment, I actually liked doing it. Seeing the man who made me suffer dying before my eyes, by my own hand.”

“And you think it’s wrong, mh?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“You didn’t just take your revenge tonight. You also removed a dangerous pawn from the chessboard.”

You chuckle. “Looks like I’m part of the game now.”

Whoever is hiding and plotting under Starrick’s leadership may take Derrick’s place and continue what you abruptly interrupted. “Killing that man I basically marked myself.”

“You won’t be alone in this, Y/N. You have my word.”

His comfort is relieving, nevertheless you can’t help but wonder what should you expect from now on.

“I was serious when I asked you to join my Rooks.”

You look at him then, getting lost into those beautiful hazel orbs now perfectly visible with the top hat back where it belongs. “Were you?”

“You hold all the cards to be one, trust me. And even more than that.”

After the unpleasant experience you had with your boss back then, just thinking about searching for a similar employment was nauseating to you. Wherever you went you always had the impression of being looked at from head to toe, and the fear of being harassed a second time was way stronger than the possibility of ending up in misery.

“Tell me Jacob, would I be safe with you and your Rooks around?”

Mr. Frye can feel it, the palpable misgiving in your slightly shaking voice.

“As long as I breathe I assure you, nobody will ever lay a single finger on you.”

You’d want to laugh and cry and jump and desperately hug the man in front of you. Instead, you simply nod your head and answer with great composure. “It’s not like I have a better option, so… why the hell not? I’m in.”

“Splendid!”

“On one condition, though,” a slight sneer appears on your lips.

“And that would be?”

“I’m not going to wear that green suit.”

Jacob emits an emphasized gasp touching his chest. “I should feel offended. Those suits cost a fortune, love, you have no idea!”

You don’t even remember when was the last time you laughed out loud like you’re doing now. “I don’t care if they’re expensive, I’m not wearing one! Do I really need to dress up in green to be classified as a Rook?”

Jacob shrugs. “Not at all.”

“Then we have a deal, I’ll keep my own clothes. Well… maybe something not as drenched as this outfit, but you got the idea.”

Jacob’s clothes are not as perfect as they were the day you met him either, with that slight stink of beer coming from his right sleeve and the moist leather.

“Yes yes,” he continues, offering his arm for you to take it. “How about I introduce you to the rest of the family? My sister and Greenie will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

 _‘He has a sister, uh?’_ You wonder if the woman is as cocky as her brother.

“That would be a honor, Mr. Frye.”

Taking lives is not exactly something you wanted to experience and that thought alone will probably be enough to keep you awake most nights. Still, in this city you can never be calm nor safe unless you defend yourself in every way possible and, at least, Raymond Derrick surely got what he deserved.

Someone else may be next and you probably just got started. But, walking alongside with Jacob Frye arm in arm and listening to the Big Ben chanting the stroke of midnight, the only thing you want to feel is the sweet taste of victory.

Until it lasts, that is.


End file.
